


Solace

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, Non-Explicit, Old Doc OTP, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Post-Delphi, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Top Drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: An attempt to distract themselves from a difficult day backfires and Ratchet finds himself in need of comfort.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is a gorgeous chapter in [Crux by dragonofdespair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6611431/chapters/15127405) that inspired me to play with Top Drop in fic and The_Sparkbeat donated a plotbunny to me.
> 
> I stuffed both of these into an under-ficced AU and this is the result.

Ratchet was shaking when he left the Medbay.

Not much, not enough for anyone except those who knew him best to actually notice, but he was.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid_ stupid.

Overconfidence and overwhelming joy at having working hands - _Pharma’s_ hands, a gift from Drift- giving him this new lease on life had instead taken Ratchet to the brink of catastrophe.

Coolant ran like ice in his lines as events from the last few hours replayed in his processors. Drift on a medberth, suffering complications from Pharma’s rust plague interacting with his scarred and weakened Spark Chamber. With Drift’s gift it would have been easy enough for Ratchet to fix, _should_ have been easy enough given the smooth responsiveness and sensitivity of Pharma’s well-maintained hands.

Except that, as usual, Ratchet hadn’t been nearly as careful with his own health as he was with that of his patients.

The connections between his own neurocircuitry and the systems of the grafted hands misfired at a crucial moment, leaving Drift’s Spark flickering on the very edge of extinguishing entirely. First Aid and Ambulon had both been attending, they worked frantically alongside Ratchet to pull Drift back from the edge of the Well, stabilise him and finish up the original surgery.

While waiting for Drift to regain consciousness, Ratchet allowed First Aid to examine the grafted hands. First Aid had discovered damage from the Rust that they’d missed during the frantic hours on Delphi spent cleaning up Pharma’s mess. Damage that Ratchet _would have found_ if he’d bothered to do more than the bare minimum post-operation care on himself.

Only the three medics and Drift himself knew just how close the speedster had come to death.

_Because I got cocky._

Cycling his vents, Ratchet let himself into the quarters he shared with Rung, optics drawn to the brightly-plated form trying gamely to sprawl over the entire couch. There was an open packet of rust sticks on the cushions beside Rung, a half-eaten one wiggling away in the corner of his mouth as he chewed at it, a familiar datapad propped against the arm of the chair telling Ratchet everything he needed to know about his lover’s day.

_Not a very good one for him either._

Waving a greeting, Rung pulled his pedes up to make room for Ratchet on the couch, looking up from his datpad as he did so. The instant Rung spotted the subtle trembling of the red-and-white frame the half-eaten rust stick vanished from the corner of his mouth. Ratchet heard crunching as he crossed the room to drop into the free couch space beside Rung, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands so he didn’t have to look his too-perceptive lover in the optics just yet.

“Who was it?” Rung’s words were soft, his Field filled with understanding Ratchet usually only found in those of other medics.

“Drift.” Ratchet ground the designation out through gritted denta. “Kid has slagging well made a habit of trying to die on me; connection to these hands isn’t what it should be yet so we… almost lost him.”

They sat in silence for few minutes, Ratchet venting raggedly as he fought for a sense of control that had escaped him entirelt.

“What about you?” Ratchet asked when venting didn’t work, grasping for a distraction from his thoughts. “I saw that datapad of yours.” He added wryly.

“I tried suggesting those claw modifications you came up with to Whirl.” Rung‘s voice was filled with the frustration he wouldn’t show anyone but another professional. “He flat-out rejected the idea and I’m afraid he might have taken more than a few steps backwards as well.”

“Reaction to being confronted.” Ratchet reminded his lover; letting his hands fall from his face so he could take one of Rungs’ in his and lace their fingers carefully together. “Besides, it’s not all forward progress; never is with any kind of healing. Anyway, this will give us more time to work on streamlining the mods.”

Mindful of the increased responsiveness of the grafted hand, Rung squeezed gently, Field expressing silent thanks even as he snorted.

“He was so slagging _close_ and he’s being so _stubborn_ about this that I could scream.” The smaller mech said as he tucked his pedes up and leaned against Ratchet’s side, his engine rumbling a soft growl. “It would do his mental state worlds of good to have those modifications but he just refuses to do the work needed to get to the stage where he could accept them. Now it’s going to take _months_ to regain the ground he’s lost.”

Rung silenced himself with an irritated roll of his Field and the distinctive click of an overridden vocaliser.

“Sounds like we’ve both had a day we could do with forgetting for a while.” Ratchet ran one of his new thumbs over the back of Rung’s hand, silently revelling in the ability to do so smoothly and without pain. “You’ve been off-shift longer than me; got any suggestions?”

A soft laugh filled Ratchet’s audials as Rung’s vents puffed warm air over his plating. Movement out the corner of his optic was Rung shaking his helm. Without looking Ratchet could picture the wry smile that would be tugging at his lipplates.

“You know me too well, love.” Rung observed fondly. “I need to not think for a while and it sounds like you need to be in control of something for a bit. Does that sound right?”

A sharp gust of air left Ratchet’s vents, his Field exploding outwards in a burst of _relief/yes/rightness_.

“That is exactly right.” His words emerged low and rougher than he intended. “What do you have in mind?”

Rung hummed thoughtfully for a long moment and Ratchet let him think, simply soaking in his steady presence.

“How about tonight I kneel to you, and you deny me overloads as long and as often as you wish?” The lust thick in Rung’s words sent a frisson of heat through Ratchet’s frame. “It would fill both of our needs right now.”

_And we both_ love _denial games, no matter which side of them we’re on._

“Primus, yes. Are there any toys you want?” Ratchet asked, stroking the hinge of a microphone-equipped thumb. “Right now I’m thinking of cuffing you to the berth and taking a hands-on approach to let you wriggle around and beg more effectively, but I don’t mind accessorising.”

The hitching of Rung’s vents and the aroused purring of his engine was music to Ratchet’s audials. He turned his helm and stole a quick kiss, resting his cheek on Rung’s helm to feel his armour heat.

“Hands and mouth, maybe that vibrating wand-thing of yours.” Rung’s voice was husky and Ratchet smiled as the smaller mech slid around into his lap, straddling his white thighs with careless grace and a Field thick with desire. “All I want is to be riding the edge of overload for as long as physically possible, completely at your mercy.”

“Then let’s see what we can manage within your frame tolerances.” Ratchet purred as Rung removed his spectacles and performed some careless sleight-of-hand to tuck them safely away in a shoulder compartment. “You remember the words?”

Smiling, Rung slid his arms around Ratchet’s neck, whispered their agreed-upon signals in his audial to confirm and they began.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

It was exquisite.

_Rung_ was exquisite.

He submitted beautifully, giving himself totally into Ratchet’s hands and the ambulance repaid that trust with everything Rung had asked for, everything he wanted and beyond that to what he truly needed.

As he monitored his lover’s reactions, bringing Rung right up to the ragged edge and leaving him there as long as he safely could, watching intently as he writhed on their berth, Ratchet slowly regained the sense of direction that had escaped him in the medbay. Desperate, desire-wracked pleading was music to Ratchet’s audials, an urgent melody laid over hissing vents, whining fans and the creaking of stressed metal as Rung gripped the simple straps restraining his wrists and thrashed under the caress of fingers, glossa and lips until he was granted release.

When overload became oversensitivity Ratchet would move away, soothing Rung with kisses and low words, running his hands across overheating armour in long, lingering strokes until his lover had recovered enough to begin the blissful torment again.

He lost track of time; they both did.

Neither counted how many overloads had Rung straining against the berth, voice raised in almost agonised pleasure until Ratchet judged he’d had enough for one day. It wasn’t anywhere near what the smaller mech could actually endure but it had been enough for both of them.

Neither of them had sustained any damage, although Ratchet knew that there would be the slight soreness of pleasurable overuse for Rung behind his panels the next day and Ratchet could feel a distinct ache in own glossa and oral components he would savour until autorepair soothed it away. Nothing serious, nothing permanent, nothing that would send his medical coding into an unproductive tizzy to detract from the pleasant sensation suffusing his frame.

Ratchet’s own pleasure hadn’t been the explosions of bliss he elicited from Rung. Instead a low heat simmered through his frame, easing into a fuzzy satisfaction as he eased his lover through the aftermath of his final high, arranging slender legs comfortably and soothing strained joints before moving up the berth. Dim optics followed Ratchet’s movements as he gently loosened Rung’s involuntarily clenched hands and extricated the smaller mech’s wrists from the straps securing them above his helm.

Quietly humming one of Rung’s favourite songs low in his vocaliser, Ratchet inspected his lover for damage and manipulated each finger and palm joint to ensure nothing had gotten pinched or jammed. When he finished with the first hand Ratchet checked shoulder mechanisms for strain before easing the limb down, laid a kiss to the palm of Rung’s hand and placing it carefully on his narrow midsection before moving on to inspect the other hand.

The corner of Rung’s mouth twitched but he was still too blissed-out to speak. Ratchet could read the twinkle in those half-lidded optics and guess what his lover was thinking, smiling and shaking his helm anyway. Caring for his lover like this helped center Ratchet as much as the rest of their session and he found himself dragging it out, reluctant to move on and bring this island of perfect time to an end.

Unwilling to think about why he would feel this way, Ratchet expertly redirected his full attention to the small hand held carefully in both his own, kissing the clever orange digits and trying to put it with the other one. Instead of allowing him to do so, Rung surprised him by pushing himself up with an elbow and flopping gracelessly over Ratchet’s lap with a sigh of contentment.

A rumbling sound filled the air as Rung put his arms around Ratchet’s thick waist and buried his faceplates in the crook of the larger mech’s arm. Amused, Ratchet shifted Rung into a more stable position with his free arm, supporting him with the one being used as a facerest before beginning a gentle massage around orange backplates with the hand of the unoccupied arm. Normally Rung needed a few more minutes to regain enough command of his frame or vocaliser to demand cuddling but Ratchet didn’t mind this change to routine.

“That was amazing.” Muffled words reached Ratchet’s audials. “ _Perfect_.”

If Rung was speaking already then it wouldn’t be long until he was fully in command of himself again and no longer in need of close monitoring. Something in Ratchet ached at the loss, at the need to direct his attention elsewhere, outwards and away from this quiet space. Right now there was nothing he wanted to do more than devote every single iota of his attention to Rung, to have his sole focus be nothing more than ensuring that his lover felt good, instead of all the other less pleasant things waiting for him outside this precious piece of time.

An engine hiccuped.

Worried, Ratchet immediately looked down to do a visual check on Rung. Cool air struck his arm plating as Rung raised his helm to gaze up at him with slightly unfocused optics and a small frown creasing the soft dermal metal between his eyebrows.

The cooling metal of his armour seemed to chill Ratchet’s Spark.

“Ratchet?”

Another engine hiccup, this time accompanied by a faint whine.

“What’s wrong?” Rung’s voice was a world of gentle concern, his optics losing that fuzzy post-overload look.

Ratchet shivered, his armour plates clicking against eachother as they fought to close down to protect his substructure. His vents felt constricted, Spark burning painfully out of his chest as he shook his helm. He couldn’t look at Rung’s expression, gaze shifting to an indistinct nowhere-point somewhere on the opposite wall.

“I-I don’t...” His vocaliser crackled out into white noise and shut down before he could complete the sentence, but Rung was an expert lipreader.

_I don’t know._

Possible explanations for his bizarre reaction tumbled over themselves in Ratchet’s processors but none stayed still long enough to be put into words.

He wasn’t ready for their interaction to end, wasn’t ready to leave this charmed space of time where his responsibility to Rung meant he wasn’t allowed to think of anything else. He didn’t want to think about anything other than his lover and ensuring the mech felt good. It was something easily achievable and something Ratchet knew damn well he was good at, with no exceptions or qualifiers.

Even with his own hands he’d been more than capable of caring for his lover.

Now that Rung was almost ready for their wash and cuddle Ratchet would have to let thoughts of the day intrude again, face that fact that even though this was supposed to be peacetime he’d come too close to losing a patient today. Losing patients was a part of being a medic but right now he didn’t want to face it. He wanted to be a coward, at least for a little while longer.

_I don’t want tonight to end, not just yet. Please?_

By now his shivering had become full-frame shaking and Rung had slithered out of his locked and trembling arms to kneel on the berth beside Ratchet, cupping his face in warm hands and caressing damp cheeks with his thumbs. The mesh of the microphone receiver scratched a little.

_Needs maintenance._

“Ratchet; I need you to speak to me, please.” Rung’s voice held the authority it normally did when he was in charge of their berthplay. “Tell me as much as you can about what is wrong. Let me know what I can do to help you. Speak to me, love.”

Somehow, from somewhere, Ratchet found words and the strength to force them from his vocaliser. Even when he was being told to do it, asking for help was difficult.

“Stay?” He forced his vocaliser to a whisper so the glyphs would be recognisable. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why this happened.”

That wry twist of lipplates told Ratchet that by now his lover could guess exactly why he’d gone to pieces like this.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere else tonight.” Warm voice, warm words, warm lipplates pressing a kiss like benediction to Ratchet’s forehead. “Come shower with me? Let the cleaner-bot take care of the mess while we get the sticky off and then we’ll come right back here to rest.”

Struggling to get his ventilations under control, Ratchet nodded as another set of inexplicable tears gathered in the corners of his optics and threatened to fall, the tightness in his throat bordering on painful.

“Please.” His voice was hoarse as Rung pulled a soft cloth from somewhere and used it to dab away the tears before they could fall. “I’m sorry about this, ruining it.”

“Hush, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Rung gently flicked Ratchet’s nasal ridge with the cloth before hiding it away again. “It happens every now and then and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not to me.” Ratchet muttered as he stood stiffly, embarrassment joining the yawning ache of loss that had opening in his chest for no reason he could fathom.

Rung raised an eloquent eyebrow and Ratchet glared, daring him to say what was so obvious.

“I wasn’t paying proper attention before we started playing,” The smaller mech chose to say instead as they walked side-by-side to their washrack, leaning comfortably into Ratchet’s side as an automated cleaning unit scuttled past them, heading in the opposite direction. “Today was particularly hard on you.”

Warm solvent pattered down on them as Ratchet contemplated Rung’s likely reaction to finding out precisely why they’d almost lost Drift.

_He’s going to tear me a new one. Politely, but he’s gonna do it all the same._

“Harder than I thought.” He agreed, lapsing into silence.

They took turns cleaning and drying eachother, hands gentle and thorough with sponges and drying cloths. Still as careful as the first time despite long familiarity with eachothers frames. The familiar routine was comforting, helping Ratchet pull himself together after his uncharacteristic outburst and regain most of his lost composure. It was still a shaky thing and he was angry with himself for something he saw as weakness.

Instead of being allowed to brood silently in the main room of their shared habsuite, Ratchet found himself gently and firmly hauled back to their berthroom. Before Ratchet realised what was going on he was sitting on the freshly cleaned and re-made berth, watching the cleaning bot trundle out of the room while Rung rustled around behind him, fussing with the pile of sturdy cushions he’d managed to acquire whenever they stopped at a plant or trading station.

For some reason Rung never seemed to have enough cushions and by now even Ratchet had to admit that they were comfortable. _If_ they stayed where they were put, which wasn’t often. Rung liked ones with the kinds of covers that made them slide easily against -and away from- the enamel of Cybertronian armour. Whether a mech had waxed recently or not.

“Alright you; come here.”

Rung’s voice broke into his thoughts and Ratchet turned to see his lover half-reclining against a neatly arranged mountain of cushions, arms spread and obviously waiting for Ratchet to join him.

Although it was obvious what he was supposed to do, Ratchet couldn’t see why it was necessary.

“You’re kidding.” He said flatly.

_I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you right now_.

“I most certainly am not.” Rung gave him a significant look. “Now lie down so we can both get some rest.”

Ratchet grumbled and Ratchet dithered but eventually Ratchet obeyed.

Slowly he picked his pedes up from the floor and turned to see his immovable and eternally patient (stubborn) lover still waiting, arms wide and the light of amusement dancing in his optics. It was impossible for Ratchet not to answer that good humour with a self-deprecating snort and shake of his head.

“Come on.” Rung’s voice was soft, snapping the last threads of Ratchet’s resistance.

The instant he curled his larger frame against Rung’s side and felt the smaller mech’s warm chassis beneath his cheek the cold knot of emotion coiled tight around his Spark started to unwind. With a sigh he carefully draped one arm around a narrow waist, feeling Rung’s warm arms wrap around him like a fortress, like a second layer of armour, like a haven he hadn’t realised he’d been searching for until he found it. Subconsciously matching his ventilations to Rungs, Ratchet felt his frame begin relax. Small fingers fitted themselves into the tread of his tyres, holding them still and sending a silent message.

_I’m here. I’ve got you. Neither of us are going to slip away._

It wasn’t long before Ratchet found himself struggling against the need to recharge. He resisted until the sound of Rung’s faint snores reassured him that his smaller lover wasn’t being crushed –given that he was apparently comfortable enough to fall asleep. Sighing, he inched a little closer to Rung’s warmth and finally let himself sink into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written and edited as part of the Musebait Offensive. Really not sure how well this has turned out.


End file.
